


A (Little) Slice of Heaven

by Bidawee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reward Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: He got good at hockey and good at playing the Leafs. He’s played by the rules, he’s been fair this entire time.





	A (Little) Slice of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based off of game outcomes; there’s two occasions where my guess is Pastrnak was not a first star but I fiddled with the results for the sake of the fic. Unfortunately, I can’t find a database for the stars of the game for any team, so we’re going in blind.  
> You can find more in-depth description of the tags in the endnotes.

**February 3, 2018**

**Arena** : TD Garden

That first night, ignorance is the big hurdle he has to overcome.

Torey gets a hand in his hair and is pulling him around, all a part of the play fighting rampaging the locker room. It becomes hard to tell what’s the bass of the music and what’s the thunking of his heart as it tries to squeeze out through the gaps of his ribs. The world is spinning, twisting out of grip and leaving him shaking in place.

He knows, even before his skates leave the ice, that he’s the first star. It’s not the first time and it’s not the first body he’s had since being drafted, that’s for sure. He knows better than to call the score before the game is over but those last ten minutes of the period he was already pulling his fingers out of his gloves, working hard not to jump the bench and celebrate.

They wait until after he’s showered and clean to send Jake out to the rival team’s locker room with a name and face. No one’s surprised when Nylander leaves his lips: it’s been common knowledge for weeks. After all, Marchy makes words flow like water over heavy drinks. To this day, he doesn’t know why he talked about it in such detail besides for the fact it made a great story. Everyone has had their fair share of heartbreak and unrequited love in life, so it wasn’t like his story was exclusive to him. He supposes it might help to get a touch of it off of his chest too.

David’s by no means an old hand but knows by experience that it only takes about a minute to bring the forfeit over. There’s only so much you can do with sixty seconds but looking presentable is key, sending him somersaulting into a craze. Some members of the team that are in no hurry to drive home sit back and watch him clean up, curious about the love that goes into straightening his jacket cuffs and buttoning his shirt from the bottom up, pulling his neck taut.

Two knocks on the door later, he’s the one to answer. On the other side, with light circling his head like a halo, is his reward. He’s even prettier than David envisioned, coming to him like a dream. He could cry.

Instead of doing that he says, “hi,” reintroducing himself on shaky ground.

Arms at his sides, Will is just about as nervous as he is. “Hi,” he says back. He’s the envy of the room behind him, who have the compulsive need to cat-call and howl when they get a look at his baby face.

David doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or not. Right now, he’s content with just looking at the boy in front of him forever. He would, if not for Will’s sake. Every moment that goes by without David speaking helps concentrate a look of worry on Will’s face.

David gives him a smile. “You want to drink with us?”

It’s probably not Will’s first rodeo (as much as he hopes it is), so the surprise spreads on his face quickly. “What?” he asks. He sounds like someone twice his age, someone hard of hearing.

“You and us, drink.” David cups his right hand, forming the neck of an imaginary beer bottle which he drinks in front of Will, trying to find another way to explain.

The gears click in Will’s head. His whole body language transforms, now open and exciting. “Okay,” he says. His voice has gotten a bit breathier.

The last thing he wants is to have Will just short of heart palpitations the whole night. This is supposed to be fun for both of them. A sip of those Piña Coladas Will won’t stop drinking on his Instagram pictures can’t hurt.

David can’t say the team is pleased to hear that they’re about to have a Leaf tagging along with them but he’s the first star and it’s their job to respect his decisions. Since it’s his night he gets what he wants and what he wants is a place downtown where they don’t ID him and there’s some fun to be had in admiring the modern decor.

Marchy’s drilling Will with questions big and small, more than eighty percent of them jokes meant to throw him off guard. The first few times he has to respond he looks to David for guidance, who is short on words and rolls his eyes. It takes Will longer than expected to get the gist of it and that comes after a round of laughter from the table at his expense. Normally, he’d stick up for Will but the look of confusion on his face is too cute for its own good, so sue him.

Once Will stops taking the whole thing so seriously he calms down considerably. An hour in and he lets David drape an arm over his shoulder, bringing them close together as they all press in around the table to hear each other over the music. With how close they are, David’s able to get a whiff of the cologne misted on Will’s clothes. It’s something refined, giving the impression of black cherry or something equally as strong. The fact it’s not the coconut hand lotion he used to slather on his arms and legs after practice back in Sweden says a lot.

On the surface, Will’s a completely different guy. One drink later, however, and he’s back to being as loud and handsy as everyone else is at the table. David has to abstain, being the designated driver for the evening, but has his fair share of entertainment in watching Will trip over his words trying to recap a play he made three nights ago. The rest of the party plays with him, all in good fun. The years of rivalry between the Bruins and the Leafs have been fun as they have been challenging, so David can’t blame the team for poking fun at Will in his inebriated state, even if it’s just a light buzz at this stage.

Just like in Sweden, Will fits perfect in the bend of his arm. His sun-drenched hair bunches up under David’s nose. The years have been good to him.

Seeing as how he’s driving, he gets to decide when to end the evening for William. He’s had to experience a sixteen-year-old Will throwing up after overindulging on shots and the memory of him sobbing into David’s chest will be there for life; you could say he knows better than most that Will’s inconsolable when he’s drunk. With both of their best interests in mind, they’re only at the bar for an hour before David is signalling that they need to go.

Surprisingly, Will gives up drinking without any real fight. He does linger, to say good-bye to the Bruins of all things, and lets David lead him outside for fresh air. He’s not as drunk as he’s pretending to be, that much is clear. As much as David knows that one drink for him is the equivalent of two to three for someone else, he’s trying a little too hard to use David as a crutch.

He helps Will into the passenger side and reverses out of the parking lot in quick succession. Will entertains himself by sorting through his collection of manuals and album cases, giving his opinion on what’s tasteful, what’s garbage, and what has no business being in his car. David hums when Will leaves pauses in his sentences, looking as though he’s listening to him when in reality, he’s rehearsing the journey home in his head again. It’s late and he’s not drunk but he is distracted. Willy never stops talking. It’s not the right time to stop paying attention to what’s important. He can’t bed Will if they’re dead in a ditch at the side of the road.

Finally, they’re in his driveway. Will is picking at the scabs on his knuckles, taking in the little details one by one. David waits for his opinion; it’s finally one he wants to hear. In response, Will laughs in his face, jumping out the door and saying out something about racing him up the stairs with enough volume to wake the neighbours.

David takes his time. His hands squeeze the grit on the wheel in two evenly spaced pulses. Will’s just messing with him, _he knows this_. It’s a bit too much like Juniors for comfort.

“Too slow,” Will says as David fishes his keys out of his back pocket. Will is rocking back on his heels, looking over David’s shoulder as he jams the door key straight in.

He lets Will in first so that he can close the door behind him. The keychain goes in the bowl at the door, swirling around the ceramic. He doesn’t have the time to think about cleaning up or rinsing the dishes stacked up by the sink, Will’s already made himself at home in the living room. The lamp beside him is the only light on in the whole house, par from the porch light.

Also on is the television. It usually takes friends and family a good five minutes to find out which remote turns on the box. It’s just his luck that Will knows him better than his own flesh and blood. He’s also found the slew of gaming consoles on the lower row of the television stand.

“What games do you have here, man? You’ve got to have something.”

“Will--”

“What, you chicken? Because I think--” David turns the television off, stealing the remote right out from Will’s hands.

“Rude,” Will says. With nothing to hold, his hands lay flat in his lap. He waits for David to make the next move.

David wants to take Will upstairs. He wants to strangle all those insecurities floating around in the back of his head, throw Will onto the bedspread and kiss him, for real. The blood coursing in him is hot and it makes his lips pucker and his fingers burn.

But despite all of that, he’s weak. The opportunity is there, written in big bold letters and he still can’t act on it. He needs another buffer, this time a bad sitcom with a laugh track so loud he can’t understand what the actors are saying, just to get his thoughts in order. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of it, because Will picked it and he’s having fun. Will has to be beside himself with happiness because the night is perfect for him, isn’t it? Always perfect, always going his way. He’s cheated himself out of having to suck dick using nothing but his natural appeal. And how about him trying to snake charm David’s teammates, always acting drunker than he is to get the conversations going?

The laughing becomes grating really fast. Buffer aside, he finally knows what he needs to do. He lets Will enjoy the programming until the commercial break occurs and uses the opportunity to finally gets to act on those impulses that have existed for half a decade. The first step is grabbing Will by the knee and yanking him forward, the second is pressing down on his chest until Will’s eyes go wide with panic.

“What are you doing?” Will asks. Fear laces his words, bringing out his accent. Will was always so great about sounding American, great in all the ways David never was--always shoving it in his face.

David leans over him. “You’re a forfeit.”

The corner of Will’s mouth twitches. The truth comes to light, and it’s not pretty. Right in front of David, he turns into a complete stranger.

“Oh,” he says. His eyelids halve his eyes in two. “Can’t we just watch television together? Like the good old days?”

“Will-”

“You were the one who wanted to stop getting dinner together before games. Can’t I just have this?”

He should’ve known Will would try to turn it on him but it’s his own damn fault. Corner the dog and it’s going to snap.

“Don’t be cruel,” David rasps. “Get up.”

Will laughs to himself. “ _I’m_ cruel?” He scoffs. “Whatever. Get off of me and I’ll stand up.”

David hoists himself up with his arms, backing up a touch to give Will room but not an abundance to work with. Will can get creative when he wants to be. He should know, he’s been on the receiving end for years.

Will stands up, back slouched. “What now?”

“Follow me.”

He takes Will up the stairs to the second story where the bedrooms are. Static races up his legs from the carpet and he realizes it’s because he’s holding on to Will, who’s dragging his feet. Will moves like he has a gun on him, imagining the worst, most likely.

“I’ll show you a good time,” David says. He rests his hand on Will’s back, pushing him through the open door.

In succession, all of the confidence that Will had when he walked in the door is gone. Will takes off his clothes and watches as David does the same, right until they get down to the final layer. Suddenly, it looks as though Will is having second thoughts. Will keeps his boxers on, dropping his hands to cover himself; there’s nothing to show.

“Get on the bed,” David says. It’s nice to have a little control, better when he sees Will move to follow his commands. It’s become as addictive as nicotine at this point.

He follows suit, pulling himself on top of Will so that they’re facing each other. From there, he can see that Will’s palms are turned up at the ceiling, his chest keeps pumping air in and out, faster and faster. The only part of the body not consumed with panic would be Will’s face, more specifically, his eyes. They resemble something mean, as if recognizing the power they once had and could have again.

David ducks his head in, bringing his nose under Will’s chin and kissing the skin of his throat. The smack of his lips is loud. Will has gone completely still. When David pulls back, he’s still looking up.

That won’t do. David’s fingers trace a line from Will’s throat to his navel and finally his groin where his happy trail leads. They stretch the elastic of the other man’s boxers, testing and then pulling back. Will spreads his legs, making the process of stripping him a bit more cumbersome. David can almost feel his bones liquify when he touches them.

He’s been in locker rooms, had billet families, and had that one gulp of moonshine when he gave Will a handjob during the tournament, the year before they split. This is nothing like that. It doesn’t even come close to comparison, having Will spread out under him, naked. He looks ready to be crucified.

David gets his mouth on Will’s cock to help get the blood flowing, using his right hand to grip the base. He coats the head with his saliva, pulling his teeth back to make it as enjoyable as possible. Will holds out for as long as he can, nails digging into his palm as his hands form small fists. He’s so nonchalant about the wet sounds breeding inside of the room with them.

David waits until Will is hard to yank open his bedside drawer to find condoms and lube. He throws the condoms on to the bed and goes for the lube and tissues next. For one moment, Will is back with him and goes to pick them up, only managing to pinch the corner of the condom packet before David grabs him by the wrist.

“Let me.” Will drops them in David’s hand. His eyes appear to bulge out when David pops the lid of the lube container and coats his fingers with a generous amount, enough to get Will sloppy. At this stage, he can’t ignore what’s about to happen to him.

David’s left hand, the one not warming up the lube, slides down the inside of Will’s thighs. If he could get him to turn around, it would be perfect. His fingers create little insets where he touches Will; he bruises so easily.

“Are you a virgin?” he finds himself asking.

Will’s eyes slant, his whole face recalibrating in a series of twists and morphs. Finally, he settles on an answer. “No, Kappy.” The tone of voice he uses ties it up in a neat bow.

David tries to find it in himself to not be disappointed. After all of this time it would be a miracle for Will to not have gone to bed with someone else. He waited too long and paid the price to arrange the parts of his career in the right order.

Not to mention Kasperi’s been a thorn in his side since, well, forever really. It started out on offensive plays and bled into Youtube recommendations when he was watching highlights, building a standard profile of the good-for-nothing brat who’s loved for more than he is. David could never see the appeal.

Having those thoughts will taint what is otherwise a dream come true. He resumes mapping the body that’s available for him, exploring every nook and cranny, finding injuries that weren’t there before and hair in parts where Will used to be smooth. So much has changed it’s hard to believe it was the same body he laid with.

“Turn around,” he says. Will is slow to get up, eyes angry. They look strong but they lie. David knows they must be begging for a second chance, for forgiveness. Something.

His pointer finger circles Will’s hole, eventually pushing in. Will grunts. It looks like he’s going to try and inch away when it turns out he’s raising himself onto his elbows, lifting his ass up. The change in position helps more than it harms and one finger becomes two, then three. Will takes it all with both sets of teeth pressed together, forming a tight seal.

So many compliments could be pushed onto Will at this state, how he opens for David and does so without complaint. He’s about to get fucked and has never looked prettier, not even on their draft day. He’s here in body and mind and all he can think about is David.

David fingerfucks him until he sees fit, removing his fingers and wiping them down with the tissue he set aside. He’s got butterfingers from lubing his hands before opening the condom packet and the plastic keeps jumping out of his hands. The longer he fights it, the more his nervous energy makes his fingers shake and the harder it is to tear it open.

“Here, let me,” Will says. In a brief moment of camaraderie, he opens the packet for David, handing him the condom before turning back to look at the upholstered headboard. It almost makes David rethink everything. Almost; his resolve is hair-thin.

He slides the head of his cock in with minimal resistance, one hand on Will’s hip and the other flat on the bed. Will communicates only using his fingers and how they fist the pillow covers. Considering they’re about to have sex, the room’s quiet goes beyond unnerving and steps into disturbing territory.

David surprises even himself with the fuck. He thought it would be rough and unforgiving, something he could use to have Will shout his name. But it starts slow and continues at the same speed. It’s just the right pace, giving him a taste of pleasure and then making him chase it. It also succeeds in getting Will to make noise. Minimal noise, but noise still.

Will’s eventual whimpers and moans force more blood into David’s cock. Once David comes, when Will’s clean and they’re together under the sheets, he wants to kiss him for real. Something long that will leave Will tasting him long into tomorrow.

David tries curbing his thrusts up to hit Will’s prostate head on, his free hand wrapping around Will’s belly to grab at his cock. It’s the one time Will has to let go of the pillow and fan out his fingers, the skin webbing between them alive with arteries and veins. David keeps pumping his hips, the rhythm down to memory.

Will comes first because of the combination of a hand on him and a dick in his ass but David’s not far. He allows himself the simple pleasure of grabbing a hand of hair as he presses his hips toward Will’s ass, nose smushed into the skin of the other man’s back. That’s the one time he allows himself to moan.

The tremors keep Will’s body alive, pulling his limbs using strings. David’s tracing the bone of Will’s arm, watching the blond hair stand on end under his touches. Patches of gooseflesh run up his arms, all the way up to his shoulder.

Will entertains the affection for a solid minute, waiting for his body to come back online. David can tell when it does, because out of the blue his hand is shoved off and Will is standing up with lube smearing the underside his legs, trying to collect his clothing.

“Wait, you don’t leave.” David’s voice is rough, scraping over them both. Will goes through a full body shiver.

“What?” Will asks. He’s staring ahead at the empty wall, where the beams from car headlights carve spinning shapes into the paint.

“I have you tonight.”

“You did have me.”

“Until seven, tomorrow. The rules say.”

Will’s head turns. A red thread rims his eyes. “What difference does it make?”

David pulls back the covers and pats the spot beside him. He doesn’t leave room for any questions or ambiguity.

Will looks down at the bedding, the side of the bed that’s still dry; David’s not going to make him lay in his own filth. That side has the good pillow and no sunlight in the morning to make for a rude awakening.

Will obeys the request, lowering himself to the bedframe and using his elbows to push himself back. His skin is clad with sweat and David’s cold just looking at him.

He’ll admit, he’s the first to abuse his privileges. He hooks both arms under Will’s armpit to pull him close, completing the hold by stamping Will’s collarbone with the jut of his chin.

With both bodies pressed together, it’s not long before the room warms up to a comfortable temperature. Little milk-coloured dots dangle in David’s vision, a seedy taste on his tongue. It’s been so long since he’s been this content. There’s a familiar ache in his body and an unfamiliar sensation of two bodies merging together.

David’s fast to fall asleep but find it difficult staying that way. Will is always inching away from him, pulled back to his side by the sweep of his arm. In sleep, Will doesn’t know that it’s David beside him, keeping the bed warm. David can tangle their legs together and do so without knowing Will’s on the other side, frothing at the mouth.

The next morning comes too soon for his tastes. He wakes because Will is testing the strength of his arms, trying to find a way out the loops and holes binding him close to David’s chest. David’s still weary with sleep when it happens but he’s quick to notice that there’s a hole where there was once a person and that his arms are pressed together instead of around the slope of another’s waist. It takes a minute to blink the sleep out of his eyes but when he does he’s met with the sight of Will bent over, trying to pull his boxers up to his navel.

There’s no care to Will’s appearance, a rare sight. David would stare, if there wasn’t a pressing issue in front of him. His bedside alarm reads 6:54am. The number four is flickering.

“Good morning,” he says and his voice shocks Will still. Will doesn’t look at him until he’s secured his boxers over his hips.

“Hello,” he says back. The morning rays hit his face, torching the peach fuzz on his chin to a nice gold colour. David wants nothing more than to nip until there’s red to join it.

“You hungry?” David asks, finally sitting up. He pops the air in his back, straightening his muscles out.

“No thanks,” Willy says. He’s tapping something on his phone. The screen is so bright it hurts David’s eyes, who’s more than a metre away.

“You sure? I--”

“No thanks.” There’s no kindness to his voice; it’s dried up at the source. “I’ve already got a ride; I have to go.”

David changes gears, letting his eyebrows fall. When he stands up, Will averts his eyes. He can see that Will’s body is damp but clean. If David didn’t know any better, he’d assume he showered but there’s no steam to prove that story.

“Let me cook food for you,” he says, slowly. He advances toward Will, testing how close he can get before he wails. He’s been nothing but kind. If Will was someone else’s forfeit, they wouldn’t have been nice to him. Will’s body screams out to be used. They’d feed his smiles back to him in the form of spankings, leaving him to find his own pleasure using his right hand later.

Finally, Will bolts altogether. Not just by sidestepping David, but by bunching his clothes into a ball and backing away.

“You can’t keep me here, you have to let me go, at seven.”

“Then you wait,” David says. He can do a whole lot with three minutes. With Will as his captive audience, he puts on a fresh pair of boxers and shimmies into a shirt so he can see Will out the door.

While he’s not entirely sure if Will will respect the rules of the forfeit, he puts enough trust in him to leave him alone and head out to the kitchen. He knows he has a cup of Greek yogurt in his fridge somewhere for smoothie-making purposes and that plus a few raspberries leaves him something to hand Will as he’s pulling his shoes on.

“Peace offering,” he says. Will tries to give it back but he insists, closing his hands so the cup won’t rest in his palm. Somehow, Will perceives this as shocking; he’s looking at the yogurt like David spiked it with something.

“Thanks,” Will says. He looks better than he did before but not by much.

Will decides it’s better to wait outside in below freezing weather than the comforts of David’s house. Luckily for him, it doesn’t take long for a car to pull up on the street, a car he recognizes the plate of. Before he leaves, he makes sure to tap David’s chest with the back of the hand carrying the yogurt.

There’s an optional Bruins practice later in the day. David’s no stranger to waking up early to piss and eat a morsel before going back to bed to pass the time. Now, he’s not so sure it’d bring him any happiness. He’d only be made more aware of the empty spot where a body should be.

 

**April 14, 2018**

**Eastern First Round:** Game Two

 **Arena** : TD Garden

The debriefing before the game is tense, all relating back to them not becoming complacent with the one game lead. Anything can happen, it’s the playoffs.

That’s exactly the logic that sends him off to get not one, not two, but three goals in one night.

It’s _his_ hat trick, he fought for it and took the title right out from Andersen’s glove. The arena roars its approval, shining a spotlight on him and his many accomplishments that evening. He’s on cloud nine, for more reasons than one. Whenever he glides by the Leafs bench and passes Will and the sour expression on his face, he’s reminded that they both know what the night will lead to.

In that regard, Will is a lot more passive this time around. He’s not going in with false expectations--expectations that in hindsight he was responsible for--and lays down for him with his chin up, throat bare. It would be exciting if not for the fact that Will falls into a routine so easily, like he’s a seasoned veteran. There isn’t a time that goes by that David isn’t reminded Willy would be considered touched goods.

And as much as he knows it’s not his right to dictate who does what, he’s able to convince himself it’s protective, not possessive. If it were possessive, he would be telling Will who he could and could not sleep with. He’d be leaving hickies for someone else to find. Those thoughts chase themselves around his circles, over and over, he can’t keep up. They run in the background, quiet when he’s preoccupied with slicking his fingers with lube and loud when his cock is three inches deep and Will has to grab his wrist and ask he slow down.

David waits until he’s completely inside of Will to push away the bangs obscuring his eyes. Will’s entire face is a pretty pink colour, jaw so tight his bottom lip is stretched out. He’s trying so hard not to let out so much as a peep.

It’s slow and sensual sex once more, all they’re missing is the rose petals. David tries to keep his head lodged in between Willy’s neck and shoulder but is quick to find out that it’s uncomfortable to keep his back and neck angled for long periods of time. So, he swaps the shoulder for Will’s forehead with the unintended effect of turning the intimacy up to eleven.

When he first presses their heads together, it looks like Will takes offence. The muscles in Will’s abdomen clench to the point of pain. Because of the close contact, David can feel the energy behind the reactions he drags out of Will. When he can, he stops and gives Will a second to collect his bearings and release the pent-up frustration but there’s little hope in it. Most of it is beyond his control; he can’t stop Will from being mad at him. Nor can he make the sex slower.

He takes an orgasm from Will and receives one in return, coming inside the condom with a groan that the skin of Will’s neck sponges up. He slaps his hips against Will, bodies pressed so close together that it’s hard to tell where Will begins and where he ends. Will is quiet, save for a feeble cry when David tries pulling out.

He stops before he can finish the job “You okay?” he asks Will.

Will nods, eyes wet. David uses his hands to pull himself up so that he can tuck Will under his chin, with the unintended side effect of pushing his softening dick deeper inside.

“Can we go to bed?” Will says, voice so low that at first David mistakes it for a sigh. David creates his own tiny noise, asking Will to repeat it.

“I’m tired,” Will says. “You got your reward, can we sleep?”

It was a reward but it wasn’t the same adrenaline rush as the first time, that’s the problem. He wants more.

Still, he’s nothing but a good lover and pulls out, It’s so much work just to tie the condom and dispose of it, as well as make a trip to the ensuite for washcloths and an empty glass for Will to use in the middle of the night for water or whatever he wants from the unstocked fridge downstairs.

Will is appreciative for cleanup at least, holding his legs open so David can clean him proper. Gone is any modesty he once had. David’s allowed to clean the come off of his stomach and flaccid cock. He’s afraid any words he says will break the peace.

Will takes the role of the little spoon, lifting his arms so that David’s can go underneath, a kind gesture. He’s been kind all evening so David should be happy. It could have gone the exact opposite way and been a test of wits, but no. So why does he feel so gutted inside?

Five minutes later, he taps Will’s cheek to rouse him. “Kiss me,” he says.

“What?” Will asks, already groggy. David is leaning over him, shadowing his body and then some.

“Kiss me,” he repeats himself.

“Why?”

“Just--please.” He can’t explain it, it’s just become this compulsion.

Will waits for a second, too long almost, before he agrees to it. He goes in for a short peck and is held in place longer by one of David’s hands on the back of his neck. He does not complain, in fact, he says nothing. He lets David savour that moment, despite how little it may be.

David lets him go, has got what he wanted. Willy stays in place for a minute longer, the opportunity to continue there if David acts on it. And he wants to so much but Will is tired. David’s not there to torture him, and some might say keeping him there overnight for a glimpse at domestic life is torture enough.

 

**April 25, 2018**

**Eastern First Round** **:** Game Seven

 **Arena** : TD Garden

There’s that brief moment in the second period where it looks like the Leafs will come out on top. One short-handed goal from Kasperi Kapanen blows out the excitement in the arena. David watches the thing unfold in slow motion, the second the puck leaving Kasperi’s stick being the nail in the coffin. Not for the game but for him, always for him as he victory celebrations leave the ice and make their way toward the Leafs bench. The twenty-nine marked on Will’s arms are visible, opening up to accept Kasperi for a short hug and a slap on the helmet.

It makes it all the more satisfying when they grind the Leafs into a pulp later. No one’s laughing then. All he sees is gold and black, the Leafs’ away jerseys flattened to the ice. They’re forming a protective shield around their goalie, trying to make sense of their loss. David has to wait until the handshake line to see Will again and no words are shared because right behind him is Kasperi as always, finding something to bark at with every person in line.

David’s going to call it quits on the evening because he doesn’t have the energy to go out and be a nuisance in public. The combination of the mental and physical strength he had to line his skates with leaves dead on his feet. Not only does it not paint a pretty picture but his temper is short with the teammates who try to jump him when he’s walking over to his stall.

He realizes a lot of the unresolved anger comes from the first star forfeit problem. Though he did get a goal and assist he didn’t place first on the leaderboard, that honour goes to Bergy. He doesn’t know what difference it makes when their game stats were completely the same but one thing he does know is that the visiting team isn’t going to stick around to lick their wounds. He must set a record for the fastest locker room change by a winning team’s player, meaning it’s his job to call in the forfeit: some kid named Zach that Bergy says he wants to have a beer with. An opportunity wasted in his opinion.

The whole group of Leafs sit in a pack, protecting the weakest. All buttoning their shirts, no one pays him mind when he knocks on and then enters the locker room. Most of the team are stuck in their own heads, save for Will, who is trying to hide behind some of the Marlies call-ups. He seems to sense the irritation in David before he’s able to see it on his face.

David makes the announcement, sends Zach over, and turns around only to find Will has stopped in front of him, arms crossed.

“What?” Will asks. “I know you want to talk to me.” The flow of the crowd forces him to move closer to David.

“We should celebrate,” David says. He has a bottle of champagne back at his house and two flutes, one with Will’s name on it. That’s just the cream of the crop, he has plenty of alcohol in his cabinet to gorge their livers on.

One of Will’s hand scratches at his beard. “Thanks but no thanks, I have to go home.” He doesn’t wait to hear whatever excuses come out from David and rejoins the Leafs and their equipment managers in packing up. There’s nothing left for him there.

David didn’t actually expect Will to say yes to anything. That would have a one out of ten chance at happening, if at all. He asked about going away together so he wouldn’t beat himself up about a missed opportunity just in case Will was down to drink the night away. However, it doesn’t mean he has to swallow his anguish right on the spot.

Two hours later, Will is still on the mind. David’s not sure if he’s swinging his legs from a barstool or up in the air, on the window seat where he feels the most protected, looking out at the clouds. There’s still one clean flute at his house, the other dirtied with the press of his lips. He got into some of the imported goods that are strong like licorice, dissolving on the back of his tongue.

It all boils to the surface about ten minutes later. He pulls out his phone, on its last ten percent of charge, and scrolls down his contact list. The last time he spoke with Willy was at the beginning season, back when they were on speaking terms. Back when they agreed on going to dinner before games and drinking after.

David’s left hand massages his temple as his right types out a small message. _I’m sorry for today_ , it starts, _you played great and I miss you._

Will’s got his read receipts on and David can see he’s looked at the conversations seconds after sending it. He drops his left hand and has it share the weight with his right, waiting for the three dots to tell him Will is responding. Time comes and goes and no such thing happens. David passes out waiting for it.

 

**November 10, 2018**

**Arena** : TD Garden

For the second year in a row, it’s beginning to look like Toronto and Boston are going to walk arms crossed into the playoffs, and that’s coming out of the analysts’ mouth with only one month of games to go off on. The first game with two teams coming to head can’t come quick enough and tickets sell like hotcakes.

David doesn’t mean to get cocky but he uses his free time before the game to spruce up his place. He cleans the empty condiment bottles out of the fridge and makes a special trip to buy comfort food--the kind of food he treats himself with when sleep doesn’t come easy and he has to sit himself down in front of the television.

It would be a perfect night, with the first star forfeit the cherry on top, if not for one thing: William is in Sweden banging out his new contract. David’s known since the beginning, the controversy following him back to Boston and polluting his social media feed on every account. Taking two steps in Toronto without knowing about negotiations is equatable to heresy.

He’s known and yet, he picks up marshmallow fluff at the supermarket knowing the whole time it’s because back in Sweden it was Will’s go-to treat after training. Maybe having it on the cabinet shelves would bring Will back to him; if he was here David could feed it to him and make him feel more at home. He knows a tasty spread isn’t going to be enough to save their friendship, but it’s worth a shot.

That night, he walks out of the belly of the arena finding himself feeling nothing but bored.

“Your pick of the litter, Pasta,” Bergy says. He’s got one of the rookie call-ups by the shoulder, ready to send his messenger pigeon over to the visitor’s locker room.

David doesn’t have the appetite for company, but it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer by the Leafs. He just wishes it could have happened later in the season. What’s the point of getting a reward when the prize isn’t what you want?

He coughs up the name of the first face that comes to mind. It’s the only other Leaf he has any sort of emotional connection to. It’s not a good one but it’s something, and it’s been on the mind since the first night he had Will to himself.

“You think having me is going to bring him back to you?” Kasperi says when they meet outside. His lips are cherry red, the cold air splitting the bottom open. He keeps running his tongue over it, which doesn’t help.

David grunts, too tired to put up much of a fight. He herds Kappy into his car on the condition that tomorrow morning he’ll drop him off at the airport to reconnect with the team. David does him one better, he’ll be back by tonight. David does not want him sleeping in his bed.

“Yeah, I bet you’d give anything to be celebrating your hatty with him,” Kasperi says during the drive, and David thought Will was the one with self-restraint problems when it came to blurting out nonsensical words and phrases. Yes, of course he’d rather have Will. He hopes Kasperi knows he’s second best and only here because he took something that David needs.

Something about Kasperi always looks so poisoned. He has come kicking and screaming out of the belly of the beast on numerous occasions, from Finland’s national team to the AHL. Left to incubate in the minors all those years, he’s in such a sorry state now; David pities him.

Kasperi isn’t curious and unlike Will doesn’t take the steps to acquaint himself with David’s condo. He stands still and waits for instructions in the doorway, shoes still on his feet. The car ride has helped placate him; in the span of the twenty-minute drive he’s stopped kicking up the carpet and has domesticated himself enough to not get on David’s nerves using his stupid face alone.

David uses his words to guide Kappy to the couch in the living area. He asks “water?” as the bare minimum of hospitality, which Kasperi turns down. They could take a hacksaw to the tension living in the room with them.

He’s operating in his kingdom and the first thing he does is kick Kasperi off of the couch with his foot. Kasperi’s elbows almost hit the coffee table and his weight primarily falls to his hands and knees. David uses the shock to slot Kasperi between his knees, where he then grabs a fistful of Kasperi’s hair and reigns him back.

“Blow me,” he says. Kasperi turns around, his pupils swallowing his irises whole.

Kasperi slaps the hand in his hair away, yanking back when David takes too long to free it. He straightens his back, pushing his knees together to make himself appear taller. His blond hair is strewn everywhere and from the new angle, if he dips his head low enough, David could squint his eyes and be with someone else. He’s decided tonight’s not about that though, or else he would’ve just used his hand for company.

Kasperi’s just as much the racehorse he is on the ice when it comes to playing the part of forfeit, and he moves with intent. Both hands are grabbing onto David’s pants, shucking at his belt and pulling down the zipper to open him up. Kappy doesn’t try to be cautious, he works to get the job done.

Heat engulfs him and David has to grab onto Kasperi’s shoulders to keep from folding in. On passing thought, he can feel the rough grit of Kasperi’s teeth join in but they pull back and are replaced with tongue in seconds. Kasperi’s almost too good at this and David really should be more surprised but the lips say more about Kasperi’s person than his words do.

As far as blowjobs go, it’s satisfactory. Neither party is trying to reinvent the wheel, just get David to orgasm so that the circumstances will warrant Kasperi’s release. In principle, David thought his frustrations would carry over and make him want to drag things out and maybe going in that was the plan but Kasperi looks just about as miserable as he feels.

“Is he okay?” The words slip out without permission just as they’re cutting it close. Kasperi’s eyes open and look up at David, expression unreadable. He swallows around David. “Will,” David clarifies.

Kasperi pulls off, keeping one hand on the length. “How should I know?” His voice is scratchy. “He doesn’t talk to me.”

That’s even sadder. Kasperi isn’t hiding how the statement pushes air out of his chest. The only comfort David can provide is to stroke the soft hair just above Kasperi’s ear with his thumb.

Yet, the break for condolences is just that, a break. Kasperi cycles through the stages of grief backwards and lands on anger, raking his nails through David’s arm as he adjusts himself and slides David’s cock back into his mouth. They’re back to their regularly scheduled programming.

Kasperi bobs his head until David taps him twice on the cheek to let him know he’s close, to which he pulls off and uses his saliva as a lubricant to jack David off with. Come spatters on Kasperi’s face, one particularly long streak connecting his eyelashes and eyebrow together. He flinches, taking his hand off of David’s thigh to form a fist that connects with the rug below.

The whole experience lobotomizes whatever composure David is still holding on to. He leans back on the couch’s throw pillows, flexing the muscles in his hands. Kasperi’s using his fingers to prod at his cheeks, testing how sore they are. It should be the least of his worries, with his face looking like that.

David waits for feeling to return to his legs before making a quick trip to the kitchen for paper towels and a glass of water. This time, he doesn’t let Kasperi turn it down and waits until he finishes the glass.

“You got my eye,” Kasperi says, dabbing at the bottom lashes on his right eye. His eye is quickly turning red from all the stimulation, only making whatever problem he has worse.

“Whoops,” he responds. His hands are pulling his pant zipper back up, choosing to opt out of the belt entirely as he fixes his person. Come to think of it, he might swap pants for sweats before they head out. He has the home-ice advantage here.

He has to help Kasperi put his belt on for the drive home because he’s still so disoriented. David has no idea why: David came on his face, if anything he’s the impaired party. He has a feeling it’s something permeating on an emotional level. They share that momentary truce as they get on and off of the highway, with Kasperi’s attention directed at reading off license plate numbers than acknowledging the very tangible and very real discomfort between them.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Kasperi says as he’s getting out. David’s in the temporary parking in front of the hotel the Leafs are staying at, meaning he has to try and make out the words over the sound of car horns blaring. “You’re still an asshole.”

Kasperi slams the door in his face, only to turn around and duck his head through the open window. It’s freezing outside and the cold air only continues to seep in the nooks and crannies without Kasperi being an ass. He continues without prompting, “you have to move on.”

“ _You_ have to move on,” David says back to him because he couldn’t have phrased it better himself.

Kasperi’s nose scrunches, forming lines on his forehead. “It’s a contract, it happens, not everyone can take a cut like you did. You’re an idiot if you think that changes anything about us or about you.”

David’s shoe tests the pedal, threatening to drive off and take Kasperi with him if he doesn’t get out. Kasperi takes the hint and ducks out, heading up the steps to reception. David can see him tucking his shirt into his pants and tousling his hair to get the worst of the knots out from when it was tugged.

They had something going but any fondness he had for someone in a similar predicament to him dies when Will’s name leaves his tongue. Distance has made him soft. It won’t be like that next time.

 

**Apr 17, 2019**

**Arena** : Scotiabank Arena

 **Eastern First Round** **:** Game Four

So maybe his kindness and patience weren’t his greatest qualities. Going about life pretending he wasn’t on the edge of his seat, waiting for news before the December deadline hit would be unfair to himself. But life has a way of working things out, and Will’s name is back on the roster before Christmas holidays roll around.

The Bruins only have one more game with the Leafs before any potential playoff run and David worked to make it count, only for most of his efforts to fall flat the night of. Will’s blocked him on most social media pages but strangely not over text. He did send a single question mark after the press release in which David was questioned about how Will’s contract affected him, leading to a whole speech about options and how proud David was that Will was standing up for what he believed in. That one question mark did more to David in five minutes than the four months of silence he’d had to endure waiting for news.

After the November game, the media started calling him a Leafs killer in broad daylight, a title he wears over his right breast and with pride. It’s helpful to have that kind of support during the playoff challenge when tensions are high and rewards are few and far between. If being a Leafs killer grants him an audience with the first liners then that’s what it comes to. Will doesn’t have to like it, he just has to respect it.

He sends his request out after Game Four, pacing his words so that his excitement doesn’t get picked up by the pecking order in the locker room. To his surprise, Jake comes back with a look of confusion on his face.

“He said pick someone else,” he says.

“Is he injured?” David can’t help but ask. Up until the last minute, Will was skating like a mad man. If he was injured then David was about to be angry for a whole other reason.

Jake taps the ground with the tip of his toe. “I don’t know.”

“Ask him.”

Jake ducks out. A quiet consumes the room on David’s end, all-pervasive. He hates how it detracts from the joy the team should be experiencing at the win.

Jake returns with an expression that David could only call scrambled. “His teammate said to quote, ‘fuck off’,” Jake recites.

“What’s going on?” Z steps into frame, as always big, strong, and imposing. Jake walks up to him, shoulders tense.

“The Leafs won’t send their guy over.”

“Nylander,” David gives them the name to work with. They now have an audience, equipment managers and training staff included, who try to keep their heads down as they collect jerseys from men entering the showers.

“Tell them if he’s not injured he needs to come or they give up their forfeit next round,” Z says.

Just as Jake is about to leave for the third time, there’s a knock on the door. The best and most likely guess would be the scraps of the media but somehow, David doubts that’s the case. Tuuka is the closest body to the door and takes on answering but only has to look at the person on the other side for a second before he’s passing him off to David.

“Pasta,” Tuuka says. He leaves it at that.

Will is there, right where he should be but it’s easy to see something’s wrong with him. For starters, he won’t look at David. He’s fresh out of the shower, hair still damp and curly, when it’s typical that he’ll towel-dry it before meet-ups. The lack of care in his appearance, from the dark circles making up his under eyes to the untied laces on his shoes, are just symptoms of a greater disease.

It’s the first time they’ve been this close to each other since the playoff series last year and so much has changed, probably the most visible being the hideous beard now on Will’s face. He looked so much better clean-shaven and with his hair trimmed, but it’s a large improvement from that first press conference that made headliners. The same conference David had to click away from because it was too awkward to watch.

Will’s never been happy to be taken as a forfeit but this time more than any other he’s buzzing with a strange energy. He won’t let David touch him, not even to show him the correct way out so they aren’t walking in circles for the next twenty minutes.

When they’re at the exit doors to the arena’s garage, WIll speaks his first words of the night to David. “Are we going back to the hotel?”

“Hotel?” David questions because it’d never come to mind in the first place. It makes some sense: every other time he won he would take Will back to his condo with the purpose of making him feel at home. On the road, he’s denied those pleasures.

But the last thing he wants to do is take Will back to a ratty hotel room, kick out his roommate, straighten the sheets, and then try to fuck the brains out of his friend without getting a noise complaint. He’d rather see Will’s living arrangements. He tells Will as such.

Will’s teeth bite down on his bottom lip. “Well, we can’t go back to mine.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not fair to Kappy. He needs to sleep too.”

“I won,” David says. “So we go.” Any complaints he gets from Will are shut up fast. Kasperi will just have to deal with it. If he didn’t want to hear them, then maybe he would’ve put up a fighting chance on the ice.

Toronto’s traffic is awful. Compared to Boston, everything about the city is flat; the monuments, the art deco, the restaurants, and street shops--there isn’t one thing to write home about. Not to mention, the signage for drivers to follow is easily the most confusing he’s come across. Luckily, Will spares them both the experience of getting into a collision at ten in the evening and takes the wheel.

They drive south, toward the lake. It’s where the very high-rise condos are, the ones that are scaled with panels upon panels of windows. Will’s place is on the inexpensive side of the neighbourhood, still just as grand as the lakeside properties but without the extra bling.

The light in the kitchen is on and the streaks of yellow reach the living room. From the doorway, David can hear the clatter of silverware being moved around. The position makes it hard to see what’s happening, but he does manage to spot an open dishwasher.

“Hey Willy, you forgot to--” Kappy appears from around the corner with a dish towel draped over his hand and a wine glass in the other. Before he can finish his sentence, he sees David. “The fuck is this?”

Will rubs at his forehead, looking everywhere but his roommate. “I’m sorry, he made me.”

“He made you? What, Pastrnak, can’t find your own place so you have to come ruin ours?”

David stays quiet. He’s still not well-versed enough to put together a compelling argument in English. Any fight he puts up will be easily torn down by Kasperi, who looks ready to grind his teeth into stumps by how hard his jaw is clicking.

David reaches out and takes Will by the sleeve. “Let’s go.”

Will’s eyes widen. “Go where?”

“Bedroom.”

It kills that twinge of hope in his eyes. “Oh.”

Kasperi makes his way toward them. He’s going to give himself a headache with how hard he’s tensing his jaw. “Don’t listen to him Willy. We’ll report him.”

“What am I doing bad?” David asks, looking at Kappy. “You jealous?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Can you two just--” Will has a sharp intake of air. From his lips, he produces a shushing noise. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Kappy’s just as flabbergasted as David is. Clearly, he respects Will more than he hates David because he stands aside. Doesn’t look too happy about it though. As they pass him to go to the bedroom, David can’t help but look over his shoulder to make sure they’re not being followed.

The room is very minimalist: all of Will’s clothes are put away and besides the dishevelled bed sheets, there is nothing out of place. A whole collection of family portraits sit upright on the dresser, facing the door. David can easily pick out Will’s sister and mother, all looking so much like him. You could pick them out from a crowd, easy.

Will sees him looking and turns the nearest frame to the side. “Come on,” he says. He seats himself on the bed, beginning the process of stripping his socks off. David’s content to watch.

The longer he stands without doing anything, the more Will’s face distorts. “Aren’t you going to undress?”

“I’m fine.”

Will knocks the top button on his dress shirt out of the hole. “Fuck you,” he says point blank. His eyes have hardened into chips of ice.

The swirl of nausea in David’s stomach comes back at full force. He stands before Will, looking down as the other man tugs the knot of his tie away from the collar.

“You think you can just drag me here and act like everything is okay?” Will continues.

The lava in David’s belly burns hotter. He yanks off his dress jacket, throwing it onto the ground. In seconds, he’s crowding Will’s space. One push topples them both over.

The fine hairs that make up Will’s beard are course to the touch. David accidentally rubs up against them as he slots his body against Will’s. When he tries to peck Will on the cheek, he’s thrown from Will’s body. He’s forced to roll over to absorb the worst of the blow. Only after the fact does he realize the sting in his chest is in the form of the two knee-sized marks. They come dangerously close to his crotch.

“What the fuck?” he spits out.

Will’s hands shove him aside, freeing up space between them. He uses his arms to hug himself, head hanging low. David recovers quickly, reaching out with one arm and fastening a hand on Will’s shoulder.

Will’s emotional, he understands. It’s the playoffs and like last year, the Leafs are going to cough. When he tells Will as such, he’s not expecting to come face to face with a snarl.

“This is your fault,” he says, point blank.

“What?” David pauses, trying to figure out what the problem by process of elimination. There are few things that could warrant a reaction on this scale, taking into consideration how Will’s emotional but not one to get in his face about these things.

Will’s eyes slot to the side, eyeing the door. He can hear banging from down the hall. “You fucked Kappy?” he whisper-yells.

David’s shoulders snap back. “I didn’t.”

“He told me everything.”

“He blew me, that’s all,” David says. It’s supposed to calm Will down but he only looks more upset at the admission. This time, he doesn’t let Will shove him and stabs his nails into Will’s arm, pulling him down with him.

“I have been,” he searches for the words, “kind to you. Why do you do this?”

“What, you thought by being nice I’d actually like having sex with you?”

“You didn’t mind last time.”

“So? I know what you’re up to and that means I like you? I thought you were my friend!”

It’s not fair, having so much to say but the insufficient words to say it. The years of Will leading him on, using him, and taking what he wanted and then leaving him behind explode.

“I don’t care,” David lies. He yanks Will by the legs and holds him down. “You lost, William.”

The word lost reinvents the word hatred in Will’s eyes.

“You’re _my_ forfeit. Mine.” He takes the next kiss without asking, it’s his after all, he’s well deserving of it. He got good at hockey and good at playing the Leafs. He’s played by the rules, he’s been fair this entire time.  

David’s not required to hold Will’s hand when he’s first entering Will or kiss away his tears when he nails Will’s prostate and the unexpected jerk almost frees him from David’s hands on his chest. But if Will doesn’t want his kindness then David will grant him his one wish.

He fucks him first, letting the headboard bang against the wall to warn off Kasperi, who’s becoming loud in the other room--turning up the television, that sort of deal. David isn’t sure why he doesn’t just go to bed. Maybe he’s hoping to swoop in and be the hero after David’s used Will. One thing’s for sure, he’s going to be waiting for a long time. David has no intentions of leaving before seven.

He drags two orgasms out of William before his legs begin to give out. He replaces his cock with his fingers, keeping Will busy and testing how far his endurance can go. He rotates between the two, showering Will with kisses that are anything but kind. He’s under no obligation to let Will sleep, so he doesn’t.

That right there is torture. Will’s stomach is smeared with sweat, saliva, and come, his head leaning back on the pillows, hair sticking to his forehead and brown because of how wet it is. At one point, David looks up and sees Will storing air in his cheeks, as a way of keeping his mouth shut.

The night drags on and David’s efforts die out, only smacking Will’s skin if he comes close to passing out. At one point, Kasperi bangs on the door as a way of asking Will is okay. Even though David answers for him, Kasperi waits until he hears Will croak before he even thinks about leaving. David can see the shadows of Kasperi’s feet creeping out from under the doorway long after he’s said goodnight and he knows Will does too, the both of them facing the direction of the door.

It’s past midnight and Will has no more left to say, no quips or insults to throw under his breath in the hopes David will hear but not act on it. He lies back, eyes half open, giving no feedback for the shallow thrusts that push his body around.

Eventually, David has to recede and give his body a rest. Both of his wrists ache and that pain pales in comparison to how oversensitive his lower half is. Once it stops becoming pleasurable it’s just work. And Will’s not even around in good conscience to see.

He flops down beside Will, afraid to leave the room to visit the bathroom and have to stare down Kasperi, with the very likely possibility he’s waiting on the other side of the door. So instead he curls his body around William’s and gets ready for a very restless night on his end.

The first thing he hears the next morning is the alarm from two doors down: distinct and chipper. The thin walls do nothing to protect them from it and even if they did it’d be in vain as two minutes later there’s a bang on the door. David’s phone, abandoned on the night table to his right, reads 7:02. That fucker.

There aren’t words in any dictionary to explain how tired he is. Moreover, he’s disgusting with the evidence of last night’s crime. It stains him from head to toe, glueing him to Will, who is slowly waking up beside him. He’s not yet realized it’s David’s arms forming a criss-cross over his chest, preventing him from leaving.

David waits out those last moments on bated breath. Already, he knows where his clothes were thrown and the spot on the carpet where his car keys landed. He shouldn’t. Not if he wants to buy time.

“Let me go.” Will’s voice comes through and it’s anything but happy. David doesn’t move, eyes closed so he doesn’t have to look at him. “David, let go of me.”

David complies just a second too late. Will throws him off and swings his legs over the bed, effectively separating them for good. No words are said but the instruction is clear: get out.

Will steps it up a notch. “You’re not allowed here ever again,” he says.

“I don’t control that,” David says, because it’s the truth. For all he knows it could be the first and last time he’s a first star on Leafs home ice.

“You sure as hell can. I’m not some toy to be played with.” Will isn’t moving but his eyes are zeroed in on his boxers. David watches him just long enough to see the bruises and bite marks doing their job in slowing him down.

What Will says is rich. David can’t help his lip from turning up with disgust. “Play better hockey then.”

Will won’t look at him so long as he’s naked, so David dresses as quick as he can. His skin is tacky in some spots and sticky in others. It’s an unpleasant experience from start to finish but he’s getting no slack from Will, who’s still sitting in the same place David left him in.

David’s got his suit jacket in one hand, wrinkled, and his belongings like his belt buckle, watch, and keys in the other. He stops in front of Will.

“See you next time,” David says, unable to do so much as welcome the hand of friendship so that the night’s not a complete disaster.

Will’s eyebrows slant, forming a ‘V’ that presses his eyes into slits. He does not try to reciprocate in any way. What he does do is see David out, hot on his heels, not allowing him to stop to use their washroom or even get his shoes on correctly. David’s pretty much thrown into the Toronto winter.

He has no car and no mode of transportation to use to get to the hotel. That right there is breaking at least two forfeit rules. He’d be a hypocrite to point that out to the board, however, as he’s pretty sure leaving players in one working piece is at the top of the list. It’ll be their little secret.

 

**April 23, 2019**

**Eastern First Round:** Game Seven

 **Arena** : TD Garden

What started as a wide, open-ended game ricochets and the Leafs are left doggy-paddling with skates on. All that fury they came at the Bruins with in the first period dies after the Tavares goal and any remaining flares are ground under the Bruins’ heel.

It’s a victory but it’s not _David’s_ victory. He doesn’t make the scoreboard and the game comes to a close without him making that big of a splash. The Leafs tried, they really did, but there was no beating fate.

Maybe he wouldn’t be as pissy if he got to go home to William again but he _doesn’t_ and something tells him it wouldn’t be as good of a night as he’d expect. The fact he left the Kapanen-Nylander household without a yelling match after Game Four should terrify him.

In the end, Will isn’t his. He’s back with the boyfriend or whatever Kapanen is at this point. David’s not sure if the hug Will initiates with Kappy on the ice is real or if it’s supposed to prove a point to him. One thing’s for certain, he’s being driven mad trying to find a double meaning to everything Will does and says.

He fought his way to the top and earned everything he got and it still wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t thinking Will was going to bow at his feet and press him into a wall to kiss him but something, _anything_ would have been better.

...

Fuck the Leafs. David’s going to bring home a cup to Boston and when he does, William’s going to be sorry for ever leaving him behind.

**Author's Note:**

> In the story, there’s a consensual agreement in the league that the first star player of the game wins himself a reward from the other team in the form of a player of his choice (note for world building purposes that this is void during a back to back or if a player chooses not to go in which the losing team forfeits their own pick next win). The rules are never discussed in full but protect players from being taken advantage of. David's acting on an unrequited crush from Juniors that becomes possessive. Though at all points sex is consensual, David does break some of these rules (staying past a designated point in the household, demanding he be taken to a secondary location without discussing it with the forfeit first, being unnecessarily rough during sex). In the first scene, David takes Will out for drinks not with the intent of getting him drunk but to have a good time and reacquaint himself. 
> 
> come talk to me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr!


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